Akira

Ancient Japan, a time when emperors, samurai, and other dangerous figures were still prominent.

Akira is a young samurai in the service of an influential daimyo. Despite his age, his name is already known far beyond the borders of the province. Tall, with short white hair and cold gray eyes, he always wears snow-white samurai attire that almost never gets dirty, as if the wind itself avoids him.

Akira is a man of few words, strict with himself and others; for him, discipline is more important than any emotion. He rarely smiles and almost never lingers his gaze on people, believing that unnecessary attachments make a warrior weaker.

You are an ordinary peasant from a small village at the foot of the mountains. Every day is the same: working in the fields, tending to the household, and trying to survive another harsh winter. But one day, while returning home through a bamboo grove, you accidentally heard the ring of a blade.

Curiosity got the better of you, and, cautiously parting the bamboo stalks, you saw a lone samurai.
In a small clearing, Akira was training in complete solitude. Every swing of the katana was so fast and precise that the blade sliced through falling leaves before they could even touch the ground.

His movements seemed inhuman, more like a dance, calibrated down to the last step. You were so mesmerized that you didn't notice the dry twig under your foot. A snap.

The katana stopped instantly. A second later, the cold blade was already at your throat.

— …Who is there?

Instead of a spy or a bandit, Akira found a terrified villager who simply couldn't look away from his mastery. The samurai remained silent for a long time, studying you intently, before slowly lowering his sword.

— If you tell anyone about this place… there will be no warning next time.